


Every Other Freckle

by rabidchild67



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Chris is hot now Zachary, Deal With It, Emotional Baggage, Jealousy, M/M, Post-Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 13:02:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10831818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/pseuds/rabidchild67
Summary: Chris has changed a lot. Zach needs to come to terms with it.





	Every Other Freckle

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to semperama for the beta and general hand-holding

“Hey! Hey!” 

Chris was all exuberance as he greeted Zach at the door, taking the heavy duffle from Zach's shoulders as if it weighed nothing and depositing it on the floor inside. He fairly bounced on his way back to Zach's side, the bear hug he delivered rendering Zach's next chiropractor appointment moot. 

“How are you?”

“I'm good?” Zach replied, Chris's sunny mood a balm as it ever was. “Great, even. A little tired.” 

“I don’t blame you, that’s a long flight.” 

“Yeah. And thanks for putting me up. I can't believe the hotel’s closed? How is that a thing that happens?” 

“Did they say why?”

“The email said, ‘Unexpected renovations.’ What’s that even mean?”

“Code for ‘bed bugs.’”

“Ew! No! Ew.”

“Dude, I don’t know,” Chris said with a shrug, then gestured. “Come on inside, I was gonna whip you up some brunch.” He padded away on bare feet, his step as light as his mood, talking back over his shoulder. 

Zach followed, eyes unwittingly fixed on Chris's butt whether by habit or something else. The muscles bunched and flexed beneath the nylon shorts he wore, like a pair of puppies under a bedsheet. He looked away when he realized he was staring, embarrassed. “What? No, come on, Chris. I could take you to the diner instead.”

Chris's kitchen was as inspiring as ever it was, tweaking Zach’s house envy a little. It looked more like a House Beautiful ad at the moment, with the island piled high with every kind of fresh fruit and vegetable, eggs, a couple of wedges of artisanal cheese, a large round loaf of rustic bread. Zach thought he spotted some fresh ravioli in there too. His stomach grumbled—he was still on London time. 

“Don't be silly. I just went to the farmer’s market, look at all this stuff.” He picked up an imposingly large cantaloupe and tossed it from hand to hand as easily as if it was a basketball. 

“Well, OK.” 

Chris's grin could have lit up half the city. “Have a seat. You want a mimosa? I made juice from some oranges from the yard.”

Of course he did. 

Fresh-squeezed cocktail in hand, Zach watched as Chris moved about his kitchen with a confidence and facility he didn't know the man possessed. How different from when they first met.

\----

_**2003, Fall** _

“Hey, Quinto, you’re Italian, right?”

They were the kind of friends who used last names, at first.

“Yes, Pine, I am.”

“You know how to cook? Like fancy stuff like pasta and chicken parm?”

“I have been schooled in the basics by my mother, yes.”

“Can you teach me how? By tomorrow? I have a date with this stone hottie and I said I’d cook her dinner.”

“Well, to prevent the poor girl, whoever she is, from having to eat potato chip sandwiches, I suppose I can share a few tips.”

“Potato chip sandwiches are _good_.”

“Find me in ten years and let’s have this same conversation.”

\----

They ate out on the deck, the weather surprisingly pleasant for the time of year. 

“Chris, you’ve outdone yourself,” Zach said, taking in the spread: spinach and artichoke frittata with grilled bread, a light salad of baby arugula and tomato, cantaloupe, and more of the freshly-squeezed juice, which was bracingly tart, and good strong coffee. Zach made a mental note to stop by LAMILL before leaving town. 

Chris colored charmingly. “It's my pleasure. I'm psyched to have you here. You didn't mention a layover in LA when we talked last time.” 

Zach felt a sting of guilt. “It was last minute. Supposed to be a quick visit to Kimmel tomorrow then up to Vancouver. I honestly expected to hole up at the hotel, sleep for 24 hours, and order room service.”

“You can sleep here. I can make up the guest room.” 

Zach held up a hand. “Surprisingly, I'm not tired, this fine mimosa and your delicious food notwithstanding. I've got a second wind, I think.” 

“You sure? Cuz I was just gonna go work out anyway. You’ll have some quiet.”

“No. But the gym sounds good actually. I haven't exercised in what feels like weeks. I could use some physical exertion. What a perfect time.” 

“Sounds like a plan.”

\----

“Push… Two… Push… Three… Good… looking good, Chris.”

Zach really liked Mark’s new studio space, it was bright, airy, and spacious—a far cry from the dirty basement he used to work out of when he was first taking clients all those years ago. When Zach first met him, Mark was working at one of the big chains, doing personal training on the side to make ends meet. It had been a good decision at the time—Zach had just started to be recognized on the street for his role on Heroes, and didn't want the hassle when he was sweaty and looking like hell. Chris just sort of tagged along.

\----

_**Winter, 2007** _

“Personal trainer, huh? Where’s this guy live, anyway? Some shady side of town? It’s good I’m coming along.”

Zach gave Chris a long, cool look. “To do what? Defend my honor?”

“I mean, what if push came to shove? You don’t know. You don’t _know._ ”

Zach laughed and turned his eyes back to the road. “His name is Mark and he lives in Silver Lake, genius, like four blocks from you, so no need to worry. Anyway, you might want a consultation too, I hear from Patrick his rates are pretty cheap.”

“What do you mean, ‘consultation’? I work out.”

“I mean there’s working out, and there’s what you do, sure.”

“I’ll have you know I can bench 200.”

“How many times in a row?”

Chris laughed. “Come on, bro, I run.”

“I’m not saying you’re not in shape, I’m just saying… you might want more definition. In places.”

Chris made pterodactyl-like noises.

“I’m just being honest!”

Chris lifted his t-shirt to look at his belly. “Don’t listen to him, guys.”

“Who are you talking to? Your _ab_?”

“That was… that was just hurtful.”

“So you agree to try this guy out? I think I might get a discount for a referral.”

“Fuck you.”

Zach laughed. 

“But seriously, do you think this guy’s good? What’s Patrick say?”

“He said he’s good. He said he liked him. I don’t know what else to say, I haven’t met him yet.”

“Maybe he could help me with my arms.”

“Your arms are fine.”

“Yeah?”

“I mean, you can bench 200, right?”

“Yeah.”

\----

“Four… Push… Five… Come on… Six… Two more… Seven… Push… Eight…”

Zach watched Mark work Chris out with the club bell with something close to amazement. Chris had never been an out of shape guy, but like most actors Zach knew, his level of muscle tone fluctuated depending on whether he had a role where he’d have to take his shirt off or not. But now, Zach was utterly mesmerized by Chris’s total focus. 

“One more,” Mark said. “You ready to push it?”

Chris, gulping air, just nodded.

Mark smiled. “Good,” he said, placing his hands on either side of Chris’s face. Chris gazed up at him, blue eyes intent. “I’m proud of you. Let’s go.”

They started yet another punishing set of reps. At the end of it, Chris was visibly shaking. He stumbled forward—Zach was reminded of a newborn foal—and collapsed into Mark’s arms. Mark murmured things to Chris—encouragement, aphorisms maybe—and Chris merely nodded in response. Zach recalled a few times he made Chris shake like that, but he wasn't allowed to think in those terms, was he? Not anymore.

Anyway, the fact Chris could stay so focused, could push himself to this state, was impressive. So different from before, when he'd be as easily distracted as a six week old puppy. About the only thing that got him out back then was the promise of competition, which was why they went running together so often. Maybe that's the trait Mark was tapping into, Zach thought. Maybe Mark was tapping other things, he thought unkindly.

Chris pushed himself off Mark’s frame at last, standing on his own. His eyes met Zach’s and he grinned, a kind of pride in his eyes. He should feel that, Zach reflected. He’d just put himself through a punishing workout that Zach was certain he would not have been able to stick to. But the results spoke for themselves. His body glistened, the sweat that poured from his pores coating each muscle, sending them into relief. Zach was not above a bit of an ogle—Chris was fucking shredded. His abs rippled, his forearms looked like they’d been bound by steel bands, and his pecs looked like they might burst through his skin. He was a sight to be seen—certainly something to give Hemsworth a run for his money—and so much different from the Chris of so long ago. Zach stared at him a moment, trying to picture that younger, softer man inside him and found it nearly impossible.

“Sorry that took so long,” Chris said. “I was in the zone, I guess.”

“No need to apologize,” Zach said, gesturing vaguely at him. “Clearly you're getting results.”

Chris looked down at himself, muscles still standing out from the workout, and a blush stained his already flushed face a deeper shade. “I guess. It’s all because of Mark.”

“It’s not even a little bit because of me,” Mark said, ambling over with a towel for Chris. Zach didn't miss how close together they stood, or the unconscious way Chris leaned into Mark. “It’s all you, Chris. Your hard work.” 

Chris rolled his eyes, as Mark and Zach glanced at each other. A small understanding passed between them—some things never changed, including Chris’s tendency to underplay his own achievements. “I could help you get those results too, Z. Interested?”

“That would be a hell of a commute.”

“Ha!” Mark's smile made him look so boyish, Zach wondered how he'd never noticed. Clearly Chris had. 

Zach’s smile was beginning to hurt his face. “Anyway. Why don't you grab a shower and I'll take you both to dinner? We can catch up.”

“I have a better idea—why don’t I cook?” said Chris. 

“You’ve already been so generous—“

“Nah, come on, I want to. Besides, when that jet lag finally hits, you’re going to be happy to be close to your bed.”

\----

“I never expected you to turn into such a homebody,” Zach said later as he watched Chris prep a salad. 

“No? Liv used to say that too, but I think she was talking more about herself.” He paused to top off Zach’s empty wine glass, then the doorbell rang, signaling Mark’s arrival. Zach swiveled in his chair to watch the arrival. Their hug, the way Chris’s thumb rubbed a small circle on Mark’s bicep for a moment before they parted. 

“Hey,” Mark greeted as he came into the kitchen, a bottle of wine in each hand. “I brought that Brunello you like.”

“You didn't have to do that,” Zach said with real sincerity. “You’re both making me feel so welcome this trip. It’s humbling.”

Chris beamed and Mark’s eyes twinkled, and then he eased into a slot beside Chris to help with the salad. It was like a well-practiced dance. Chris spinning salad greens while Mark got the bowl to dump them into; Mark whisking the oil and vinegar together while Chris quickly chopped up some herbs for it. 

“Can I help?” Zach asked.

“No, no,” Chris replied with polite sincerity. “You’re my house guest, it’s my pleasure.”

“We’ve got it down to a science,” Mark added with a wink as he expertly decanted the wine he’d brought while Chris fiddled with the seasonings for the sauce. Zach was left with nothing to do but finish his glass of wine and pour another.

Chris’s phone rang, interrupting their flow. He excused himself to take it in another room.

“Can you hand me that cheese, man?” Mark said, indicating a wedge of parmesan sitting near Zach’s elbow.

“Sure.” He watched as Mark went straight for one of the kitchen drawers to retrieve Chris’s cheese grater. “You sure know your way around the kitchen.”

“My family owned a restaurant when I was a kid.”

“No, I mean you know your way around _this_ kitchen.” 

Mark stopped what he was doing. “I mean—I guess I am here pretty often…“

“Of course you are,” Zach said over the rim of his glass.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means what it means, it means what I meant to mean.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Are you fucking Chris?” 

“Is that any of your business?” Mark huffed.

The air between them was suddenly electric. “That’s not a ‘no’.”

“Answer the question.”

Zach’s mouth opened and closed a few times, but at last he was forced to admit, “No. Not anymore.”

“That’s right.” A beat passed with nothing said, and Mark added, kindly, “But no, no I’m not. It’s kind of impossible, to try and be with someone who’s clearly in love with someone else.”

“What? Who?”

“Can you really be that clueless? He holds a torch for you so big they have to post brushfire warnings. Do you really not see it?” 

“We can never be together. We’re too different now.” _Chris is too different now,_ Zach thought glumly, sipping his wine. _He’s got different interests, he cooks._ “He’s hotter.”

“He was always hotter.”

Zach shrugged.

“No, man,” Mark assured him, “Chris is hotter than everyone, including you.”

“I’m the one who left, who went to New York.” So much time had passed. What if they could never be together?

“Never too late to say sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Chris asked, walking into the room. “Who’s sorry.” 

Mark and Zach stared at each other across the kitchen island for a tense moment before Mark looked at Chris with a smile. “Zach has something to tell you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your time,


End file.
